


Child of War

by dandelionlily



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionlily/pseuds/dandelionlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After escaping prison, Iroh meets a firebender child who needs his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child of War

Iroh had been many things in his life: soldier and general, conqueror of the last of the dragons and their protector, fire-bending master and tea shop owner, betrayer and betrayed. Beggar and escaped criminal was only one more stage. In the three days since the solar eclipse he had moved as fast as he could, balancing the need for speed with the need for stealth. Fortunately a genial old half-crazy beggar attracted little attention; painful as it was to admit, he was safer traveling without his nephew’s famous scar and unpredictable temper. Sitting against one of the dock buildings of South Island in a ratty old cloak stolen from the garbage heap, he felt old and weak despite the corded muscle he was careful to keep covered. 

He wasn’t paying the group of kids--one of whom was showing off his firebending--much attention until the screaming started. There was a scuffle between the screaming child and the girls restraining her, and Iroh saw the moment when the fire escaped its bender’s control and reached for the screamer. She went suddenly silent as the flames spread to her hair and clothing. Now it was the other children screaming and running, clutching burned hands to their chests. They didn’t see the old man in the cloak running faster than should be possible at his age. They didn’t see him tackle the terrified girl or roll with her on the ground. It didn’t help: the flames grew stronger, covering the child’s body and licking at Iroh’s cloak.

Caught in the adrenaline, it took Iroh several moments to realize what was missing: the all-too-familiar stench of burnt hair and charred flesh. The little girl was covered with flames, but she wasn’t burning; her eyes were wide from remembered terror, not tight with pain, and all Iroh could smell was his own unwashed body. For the flames to burn without burning her, she must be a firebender, though it was no bending the old man had ever seen. In his years Iroh had seen fire molded into cannonballs and whips, blades and dragon-shapes, but he had never seen anyone wear fire against their skin, much less be enveloped from head to toe without harm. 

At least, that’s how it appeared at first. After a half minute had passed, Iroh realized that her gasping breaths weren’t only from fear. She was choking on the heated air as it burned her windpipe. Concentrating, Iroh executed a block in front of her mouth, forcing the flames away from his hand. Another minute passed with Iroh crooning comforting nonsense before her breathing slowed and she really looked at him, desperate confusion in her eyes.

They had attracted onlookers, and Iroh hoped they weren’t paying him much attention when he exposed his brawny arms to wrap her in his cloak and half-carry the stunned girl out onto the wooden dock, which promptly caught fire under her feet. Bending a bit of fire into a blade, Iroh sliced a hole in the dock and they jumped into the shallow water. The sea water finally extinguished the flames, though it started a different burning in the old man’s blistered hands.

Uncontrollable trembling signaled the girl’s awakening from her trancelike state. She tried to run, but Iroh had an arm around her waist and restrained her until a coughing fit made that unnecessary.

“Shhhh, you’re fine,” he assured, “but you were headed the wrong way. You have to climb back up through the hole.” She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. She couldn’t be more than ten or twelve, and she was holding back tears with an effort. “That’s a brave girl. Can you reach?” She jumped and caught hold of the edge, but the burned wood was brittle and started to crack. Iroh gave her a boost that was almost a toss, and he heard a few exclamations at the girl’s abrupt reappearance. She offered a hand up, but Iroh declined. “These old bones will find an easier way up,” he said, and chuckled at her disbelieving expression and pointed glance at his muscled arms. Sharp girl.

By the time the first onlooker reached the hole, he had swum far enough away to be invisible in the dock’s shadow. Ignoring his grumbling stomach and stinging hands, he swam to the boat that would transport him to one of the fire nation’s colonies in the earth-kingdom. From there he would imitate the air nomads and go wherever the winds took him. He slipped onto the supply vessel and hid in the hold. Wet and hungry, he said a wordless farewell to his homeland and to his nephew, but found he had no tears for a second lost son.

 

 

“Stupid, careless old man,” Iroh cursed himself as he limped away from the docks. He was too old for this. Too old to stay awake until after the deckhands checked the hold. Too old to walk upright after hours scrunched between the barrels of oil and the wall. Too old to go two days without food.

Uncomfortable as he’d been in the cramped hold, he’d soon fallen asleep and his snoring had alerted a deckhand to his presence. He was lucky the young man had just escorted the crazy old man off the ship instead of reporting the incident to the captain or the dock owner. He’d have to spend the night in town, try a different ship the following evening and hope the palace guards weren’t too hard on his trail. He found a quiet back alley and, pulling the remains of his burnt cloak around him, fell asleep.

 

 

Iroh jerked awake at the weight on his shoulder and twisted away from his attacker before his eyes were fully open. There was a hoarse shout of surprise as Iroh flipped him to the ground. Flipped her to the ground, the old man corrected; his opponent was the same girl who’d done the unique firebending that afternoon.

“Ouch,” she grumbled, pushing herself into a sitting position and righting her knapsack. Her low, scratchy voice would be expected from a ninety-year-old. “I was just trying to wake you.”

“My apologies. You startled me.” She rubbed her elbow and watched him suspiciously until Iroh finally asked, “Do your parents know you’re out at night talking to homeless men?”

“My mom’s dead. My father’s in the eastern navy.” Iroh was a skilled listener. He waited patiently and was rewarded with a whispered, “I don’t even know his name.”

The old man nodded as if this were expected, and in a way it was. As the war dragged on it left more and more fatherless children. “I didn’t see my father much when I was young, either,” Iroh commiserated.

“But you knew who he was, you knew what he looked like.”

Only from the faces of coins, Iroh was tempted to say. “So you live with relatives?”

She winced at that, then shrugged. “I have a foster mom, but she’s too busy with the babies to keep track of me.”

“She worries about you all the same. Mothers do.” She shrugged again, started coughing and dug around in her knapsack for a canteen. She drank and wordlessly offered the water to Iroh, who accepted with thanks. His eyes widened when she proceeded to pull from the bag a half dozen smoked sea slugs, a komodo sausage, sizzle-crisps, two ocean kumquats and a thick woolen blanket that was fraying at the edges. When Iroh just looked at the blanket instead of wrapping it around himself, she snapped, “I didn’t steal it.”

“I know you didn’t,” he answered, tracing a finger over the earth-kingdom geometric design. “This was your mother’s, wasn’t it, young lady?” 

Her chin proudly raised, she corrected, “I’m not a young lady. I’m Luong.” A firebender with an earth-kingdom name. Iroh wondered whether she’d learned her father’s nationality before or after she started bending. 

She had chosen to tell him her real name, with all that it revealed; he would do the child the same courtesy. “A fine name. My name is Iroh.”

She frowned slightly. “Like General Iroh?” 

“I’m no general, Luong.” They watched each other for a long moment before Iroh winked; the girl flushed and nodded, pleased by the shared confidence.

“Thanks. For earlier. When I . . . when I did that thing.” From the outer pocket of her knapsack she took some aloe vera leaves and a length of bandage. “I burned you.”

“I’ve never seen firebending like that before.”

“It’s not . . .! I’m not a firebender. I would never . . . I hate fire.” Squeezing the aloe leaves, she gently smeared the sap over Iroh’s hands with shaking fingers. “It only ever hurts people.” The old man sighed, either from the girl’s words or the cooling gel.

“I believed that as well, until two wise firebending masters taught me differently. You’re a bright girl; you already know many ways fire is used that doesn’t hurt anyone.” Thus cajoled, she bit her lip, considering. She looked up at the street lamp, and Iroh grinned. “Yes, light is one use. What are some others?”

“Cooking,” she said without hesitation. He nodded encouragement, so she continued, “Warmth. Fire can be used to heat houses.”

“An important thing to remember if you ever visit the water tribe at the poles, believe me. What about making things?”

“Like tanks? Warships? Catapults?” Her voice cracked on the last, and she hid her face in her arms.

“Yes, all of those, and also pots and pans, spoons, work knives, plow shears, hammers and nails, and sculpture. Fire can even be used to heal.” She snorted, an ugly sound, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “It’s true. Aromatic steam is good for the lungs and sinuses, and a hot mineral bath soothes the mind and the aches of the body. And one must never forget the beneficial properties of a hot cup of tea.” Iroh chuckled at the last, waiting for her to raise her head before continuing, “It is true that fire can hurt people, but it can also be used to heal, or to protect.”

“Protect? How?" 

“You tell me.”

Luong screwed up her face in concentration. “Oh! Like a fire break,” she exclaimed. “When I was little, fire nation soldiers burned a field north of town to stop a forest fire.” Her eyes were round with her discovery.

“Exactly, Luong. The way I saw you bend earlier today also protected. You would have been badly burned if you hadn’t done that.”

“But I hurt people,” she protested. “I always hurt people. I hurt you, and I hurt the kids, and I hurt my foster mother, and my aunt, and my m-mom.” Her distress was a living thing wrapped around her throat. Iroh placed a comforting hand on her shoulder but she shoved him away, scrambling to get distance between them as flames began to lick her exposed skin. 

The old man, understanding what she needed this time, rested a blue-veined hand on her cheek and concentrated on bending the fire away from her nose and mouth; her eyes were protected by helpless tears. Letting her pass out from lack of oxygen would stop the conflagration, but it wouldn’t help Luong prevent this in the future.

“No, get away or it’ll kill us both,” she moaned, shaking violently. She truly believed she would die from the fire she created.

Iroh spoke as calmly as if he were asking for another cup of tea: “Nonsense. It won’t hurt you, and it cannot hurt me. We are benders, Luong; we control the fire. We do not let it control us.”

“I can’t!” she sobbed. “I’m not a firebender. I’m not!”

Iroh shook his head. “You are a firebender. To deny it makes no more sense than claiming you are a koala-sheep. You are fire nation and earth kingdom both. Understand?” She nodded reluctantly, and he flashed her a quicksilver grin. “Good. Now watch this.”

In Iroh’s left hand, a tiny flame was born, flickering purple and blue before settling at a vivid green. “How?” Luong whispered, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. Even though she was distracted, the flames that clothed her danced obediently in place instead of turning on her. She gave an exclamation of surprise when the tiny flame blossomed into a perfect little butterfly-bird, its wings swirling green and violet.

The trick was a common one, though the colors marked the little fire creation as Iroh’s own. “Here, you hold her,” he said, transferring it to the girl’s cupped hands but still making the finger motions that maintained its shape.

“It’s burning!” she cried in distress as the yellow flames on her hands engulfed the tiny butterfly-bird.

“She’s made of fire; flames cannot hurt her. Look closer: she’s growing.” The little fire design was indeed growing by absorbing the nearby flames. It grew to the size of a fist, then too large to be enclosed in Luong’s cupped hands. “She’s eaten the flames around your hands. Can you feed her more?” With an expression of determination pushing out the terror, the little girl slowly fed the butterfly-bird shape all the flames that had covered her arms and hair, then those on her torso and legs, and finally the ones flickering around her shoes. The flame butterfly-bird grew past the size of a carrier pigeon-hawk, until its wingspan was as great as the girl’s height; still it rested lightly on one of her hands.

“Good, very good,” Iroh muttered, sweating from the effort of controlling so much fire in such a delicate pattern. “Now you need to let it go.” Luong began to shake again as fear overcame fascination. Ignoring her whimpers, Iroh worked to send it up into the sky, its immense wings slowly flapping, tethered to the girl by a thread of flame.

“The houses,” she worried as the design drifted close enough to singe the roof tiles of the nearest building.

“You have to cut the thread,” Iroh explained. Biting her lower lip, Luong made a sharp gesture that severed the leash. It rose higher and eventually flickered out. “Well done,” he said, but no one heard him; the little girl was already asleep on the ground. The old man tucked the earth-kingdom blanket around the young firebender and ate the ocean kumquats, savoring the taste that burst sweet and tart on his tongue.

Iroh wasn’t expecting the middle-aged woman who came running around the corner, face flushed and hair coming loose from her bun. He supposed he should have; hadn’t he just told the little girl that all mothers worry? Spotting the unmoving form under the blanket, she cried, “Luong!”

“She’s fine, ma’am,” Iroh assured, “just resting. She’s pretty tuckered out.”

Once she had convinced herself that her foster daughter was fine, the woman collapsed next to the homeless man. She spoke as if the words were being pulled out of her. “She was so upset after school today, but she never tells me why. And she’d cut her hair again, which she only does when she accidentally singes it.” She stroked the girl’s hair, letting her fingers play with the uneven ends. “I wasn’t surprised that she ran away tonight; she always runs when she gets really upset. But then I saw the mass of flames in the sky, and I thought . . .” She clutched her foster daughter close and wouldn’t admit what she had feared.

“Your daughter is fine. I was just teaching her a way to control her bending.”

The woman was incredulous. “I can’t believe you were able to teach her. All the masters we turned to couldn’t help; some said she wasn’t really a bender. You must be a genius of firebending, sir.”

“No, no, I’m just an old man who knows a couple of tricks and illusions. Please, call me Lee.”

“Thank you so much, Lee. My name is Sen.”

They bowed to each other from a sitting position, and Iroh ventured, “She seems a troubled child." 

Again the words tumbled out; Sen seemed to have waited a long time to talk with someone about this. “She was born in the port city of Chang’un a few years after it was seized by the fire nation. Her mother claimed Luong’s father was one of the earthbenders killed in the first years of the resistance, and no one realized that wasn’t true until it was too late to ask the truth.

“Four years ago, a group of earth-kingdom rebels attacked the fire nation garrison and sabotaged two warships. Captain Zhao turned the fire catapults against the city in retaliation. Her house burned down and her mother was killed, but Luong survived with only a burned throat. It was considered a miracle up until she burned her aunt’s house to the ground, and her earth-kingdom neighbors saw her unburned but covered with flames.” Sen’s fingers parted the girl’s hair around a puffy scar on the back of her head. “They probably would have killed her if fire nation soldiers hadn’t intervened.

“She hates it here. She hates school; I think the other kids bully her because she’s from the earth kingdom or because she’s afraid of fire. She hates living with small children. She hates me. She wants to go home to the earth kingdom, even though they hate her there.” Sen bent over Luong and cradled her head with tenderness and sorrow. She seemed to be a woman near the end of her resources.

“Life is difficult for the children of war,” Iroh said.

Sen shook off her mood. “Listen to me, nattering on and boring you. I should get her home. Master Lee, would you do us the honor of being our guest? I’m afraid we haven’t much, but . . .”

“I am honored by your invitation. You have my thanks,” Iroh replied, standing and offering to carry Luong. If Sen was surprised by how easily he lifted the girl, she hid it. 

 

 

The following morning Iroh showed up on the docks feeling years younger. He’d eaten his fill of warm, simple food and slept without fear of being discovered. Best of all had been the jasmine tea: not fancy, but very hot and made with love. Luong was still fast asleep when Iroh bid the family farewell. Now he rested on a barrel, half-dozing in the sun. 

“Master Lee,” called a fire nation soldier, and Iroh blinked at him slowly, his face fixed in an expression of befuddlement. “Master Lee, I’m so glad to find you. My mother Sen said you were looking for passage to the colonies. My name is Kaito; I pilot a cargo vessel bound for Danchun that sails in two hours. I can arrange for you to be the captain’s guest. He always enjoys drinking tea with strangers, and,” the pilot dropped his voice to a confidential tone, “he has been known to overlook misplaced papers.”

“Has he?” Iroh asked. “Might I know the name of this gentleman?”

“Captain Daisuke.” At Iroh’s smile, he asked, “Do you know him?”

“We served together many years ago in the war. He is a wise man… and an excellent Pai Sho player.”

Minutes before the gangplank was withdrawn, Iroh excused himself from his animated conversation with his one-time second-in-command to wave to the little girl running on the dock. Luong, out of breath, managed a shy smile and cupped her hands to shield something from the sea breezes. When she released it, the lopsided creation could only be recognized as a butterfly-bird by very charitable eyes, but Iroh beamed as it flopped about before disintegrating in a gust of wind. Iroh waved in return, and several sailors and deckhands stopped to stare, wondering if they had actually seen flame surrounding his hand and arm to the elbow.

“Former-General Iroh,” Captain Daisuke murmured, “How ever did you learn to do that?”

“You must keep an open mind, old friend. You never know where you will find teachers.” Pulling his new navy-issued cloak around his shoulders, he asked, “Do you still prefer lotus-blossom tea? I’ve heard the northern province had a particularly fine harvest this year.”


End file.
